


Forbidden Fruit

by PenguinofProse



Series: Smutty Saturdays [22]
Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: F/M, Light Bondage, Smut, apple kink, fruit-based foreplay, smut with feelings
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-23
Updated: 2021-01-23
Packaged: 2021-03-15 19:09:28
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,162
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28943490
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PenguinofProse/pseuds/PenguinofProse
Summary: In which Bellamy loses his mind over an apple - and also over Clarke.
Relationships: Bellamy Blake/Clarke Griffin
Series: Smutty Saturdays [22]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1930432
Comments: 22
Kudos: 149





	Forbidden Fruit

**Author's Note:**

  * For [OnlyZouzou](https://archiveofourown.org/users/OnlyZouzou/gifts).



> I blame Zou for this one - in the most grateful way possible! Huge thanks to Stormkpr for betaing it. We've got S1 vibes and a little bit of bondage. Happy reading!

It all starts out innocently enough.

Monty and Jasper bring out the moonshine. Miller has been working hard at his cooking and reckons his jerky counts as _bar snacks_ , now. A bunch of the younger delinquents are bashing empty barrels in a way that vaguely resembles music.

It's a party like every other party they have known on the ground, in short. Bellamy thinks it's a good idea to have social events like this. He thinks it's a chance for the teenagers in his care to let loose in relative safety, rather than charging off into the woods to get their thrills. He knows, too, that a little festivity is good for morale.

But he has to admit, he struggles to join in. He found that at Unity Day the other week, and at every makeshift party they've held since. He's not good at letting his guard down and having fun. He feels too responsible, somehow, the burden of duty and care tangling together to make him feel like he's trying to dance with his hands tied. Sometimes he manages to laugh with Miller, and he can always smile when Clarke is around. But beyond their company and an occasional glass of moonshine he isn't really embracing the mood.

So it is that he finds himself standing in the shadows and watching the kids celebrate.

There's nothing to write home about, so far. Bree has had a little too much, so he shepherds her gently back to her tent and kindly refuses her invitation to him to stay the night. Jasper slips Stirling some jobi nuts under the radar, but Bellamy catches it before things get out of hand. And Clarke seems to be playing some drinking game with Raven and Monty on the far side of the clearing.

He drifts over there – fast enough not to miss out on anything much, he hopes, because honestly they look like they're having a more genuinely good time than anyone else here. But slow enough not to look too urgent, to make it clear that he is not _entirely_ a moth to a flame where Clarke is concerned.

He's too slow. Just a fraction too late. Before he makes it to the table where the three of them are tossing metal pieces into a cup from their noses, Jasper is there waving around a length of rope.

"Now do it with your hands tied." Jasper crows.

"With our hands tied?" Raven asks, frowning.

"Yeah. I tie your hands behind your back and you have to get the token in the cup just the same."

"I'm out." Monty says, shrugging. "You always tie the rope too tight, man."

Bellamy snorts. So Jasper has tied Monty up before now? Why does that not surprise him?

"I'm in." Clarke says, because of course she does. "Tie me up."

 _Tie me up_. Bellamy swallows hard at that. She's only asking Jasper to tie her wrists and play a game, of course. But all the same he finds himself jealous to hear her asking the question. If anyone will be tying Clarke up, Bellamy wants to do it himself.

Wow. That's – that's a thought he should probably not be thinking.

Meanwhile Jasper is looping the rope around Clarke's wrists. Bellamy doesn't go over there to check he doesn't tie it too tight, because he knows that would look foolish. He's still a good ten yards away, making a great display of looking out over the dancing crowd. It's important to check there are no more jobi nuts furtively being passed from hand to hand, you see.

"I'm good. I'm ready." Clarke announces.

Jasper wastes no time in balancing the token on her nose. She wastes no time in throwing it into the cup. She's weirdly good at this pointless game, Bellamy notes. Is there anything this remarkable woman cannot do?

Anyway, that's not the point. The point is that this is all good, innocent fun.

"How did you do that so easily?" Monty asks, shocked.

"Do it again." Raven demands. "Prove it wasn't a fluke. Repeatability of results is everything."

Clarke does it again. Then again and again and again.

Bellamy knows he should leave. Standing here surveying this small corner of the party and watching his good friend and colleague ace a drinking game is probably rather odd behaviour. He doesn't want Clarke to notice his stupid crush on her, doesn't want to make her uncomfortable and ruin the easy dynamic between them.

But damn it, he cannot tear himself away.

"I think we've proved she can really do it." Raven says, a little sour.

"Let's see what else she can do." Jasper suggests. "Can you tie your bootlaces?"

Clarke snorts. "Of course I can tie my bootlaces."

"No, I mean – with your hands tied."

"Of course I can tie my bootlaces _with my hands tied_." Clarke insists, utterly confident.

Bellamy isn't pretending to watch the crowd, now. He's staring, utterly mesmerised, as Clarke makes light work of Jasper's pointless challenge. She crouches down, angles her leg behind her and ties her bootlace without looking, hands still secured behind her back all the while.

"How did you make that look so easy?" Monty asks, awed.

Clarke flushes a little, looks away. "I guess I've had practice. I – um – I've had my hands tied before now."

There's a beat of silence. Bellamy could swear he stops breathing. There is only one possible reason, he thinks, for confident Clarke to have stumbled through that explanation and phrased it quite like that.

She's in the habit of being tied up in the bedroom.

He's sure of it. He's absolutely certain. And he's already edging towards her, already admitting defeat and heading to join his four friends in conversation. He's moving towards Clarke as if on instinct – perhaps he is a moth to a flame, after all.

Jasper buys him a little time to gather his wits. Either too drunk to understand Clarke's implication – or choosing to ignore it – he challenges her to drink a glass of moonshine with her hands tied. She manages it easily, looks around the group as if casting about for her next challenge.

Bellamy is only too happy to oblige. He swipes an apple from a nearby crate, holds it out to her as he approaches.

"Here. Can you eat this with your hands tied?" He asks. That gives him an actual excuse for inviting himself into the conversation, he hopes, rather than just the pathetic truth that he plans to stand here and stare at her hands-tied antics until he finds the courage to invite her back to his tent.

"Sure. As long as you hold it for me." She tells him, brow arched.

He swallows a sticky swallow. He's pretty sure that what she's suggesting is cheating, actually – surely anyone could eat an apple with their hands tied if someone else held it to their lips? But he's not going to say no. He's not very good at saying no to Clarke, as a general rule, since he started noticing how adorably happy she looks when he says yes. There's a reason he hasn't been arguing with her anything like so much in recent weeks.

He holds out the apple, clasped carefully in his fingers. Clarke sinks her teeth right into it, takes a large, loud bite.

He's fairly sure this shouldn't be attractive. His good friend, who he finds rather too eye-catching, is just eating fruit out of his hand as a drunken dare. And she's chewing noisily, which should definitely put him right off. It's kind of gross, really, to watch someone eating up close. Isn't it?

Yes. Well. He's not proud of the fact that he leans in closer as he turns the apple for her to take a second bite.

By the time she's chewing on her third and fourth bites, juice is starting to run down over his fingers. He honestly doesn't understand why he's finding this so erotic – crunching noises and messy mouthfuls are hardly the stuff of epic romance. He fears he must be in deep, with this one. That perhaps his feelings for Clarke are more than a passing crush.

It gets worse. Her teasing gaze, the sticky juice running down over his fingers, the way she fidgets slightly against the restraint on her wrists. The whole package has him thinking of something entirely different, of slick fingers and of her looking up at him while she wriggles in his bed.

He swallows hard. It doesn't help. His cock is stirring in his pants and the apple is scarcely half eaten. He needs to keep himself under control for a while yet.

"Anything else you can do with your hands tied?" He hears himself ask, hoarse and husky.

Damn it. So much for self control.

She raises her brows at him, swallows her current mouthful of apple. He stares at her neck while her throat bobs, then catches himself and tries to tear his gaze away.

Even worse. Now he's staring at his own hand instead. His hand, sticky with juice.

"I've tried a few other tricks." She says lightly.

He gets half way through a groan, catches himself and tries to turn it into a cough. Clarke goes in for another bite of the apple, but this time it seems she is not just trying to win some stupid fruit-based dare.

He infers that from the fact she's licking his hand. She's full-on _licking_ the apple juice off his hand. How is he supposed to survive this, exactly? Her tongue is tasting his thumb, then flickering over the length of each finger at a time. He could swear he's never found having his fingers licked sexy before, but this entire episode has been one abrupt and unsolicited lesson about his own sexual appetites.

He pushes that thought aside. There's something far more important he ought to be considering, in this moment.

He should be figuring out how to steer this back to his tent.

He's becoming increasingly convinced that Clarke is interested in that idea. If her tone when she told him she had tried a few other tricks didn't convince him, the way she's languidly licking his fingers would probably do the trick. He's fairly certain that's something that is neither platonic nor accidental.

But right now three of their most well-intentioned but interfering friends are listening in.

To hell with it. This is not a time for subtlety, Bellamy decides.

"Can you unzip a sleeping bag with your hands tied?" He asks.

"Hang on. She's only half way through the apple." Jasper pipes up.

"But she can obviously eat the apple." Raven argues. "Bellamy's right. Next challenge. Let's go find you a sleeping bag."

Bellamy frowns. This is really not what he was hoping for. "It's OK. I can go with her and be the judge of whether she can unzip a sleeping bag. You guys should stay here." He says firmly.

Clarke snorts. He pretends not to notice. Monty nods steadily, and Bellamy thinks he might have figured out what's going on. Raven looks a little annoyed, and to be honest Jasper simply looks drunk.

With that decided, Clarke strides off across the camp, Bellamy following close behind her. She's making a beeline for his tent, as far as he can tell, which is reassuring. Further evidence that he didn't totally misread that whole apple incident.

"You know, when I imagined this, you carried me." Clarke says lightly. "You didn't make up some story about _sleeping bags_."

He gives a nervous laugh. "I'm sorry. I didn't plan this." He swallows. "Sounds like you did, though. You – uh – you really want me to carry you?"

She bites her lip and doesn't say a word. He understands that answer perfectly well, thank you very much. He scoops her up, throws her over his shoulder like a sack of apples.

God. Enough with the apples. Is it possible that he has suddenly developed an _apple kink_ , or something?

She giggles a little, relaxes down his back. He holds tight to her legs and walks a little quicker.

"This what you were hoping for?" He asks.

"It might be." She hedges, teasing.

He swallows. There's something he knows he needs to ask. Clarke seems coherent, and heaven knows her coordination was on point when she was doing those stupid hands-tied dares. But he'll never forgive himself if he doesn't ask the question outright.

"How much have you had to drink tonight?" He asks her.

"Not too much." She tells him firmly. "Three small glasses of moonshine. I know what I'm doing."

He grins, although she can't see it, of course. He squeezes the back of her thigh where it rests over his shoulder just to send the same message. "You sure? This is happening?"

"This is happening, Bellamy. I didn't _lick your fingers_ by accident." Huh. Great minds think alike, it seems.

They arrive at his tent. Bellamy has brought plenty of bedmates home before now, but he has never previously tried to unzip the door with a small but rather active woman draped, fidgeting, over his shoulder. There's a kind of irony to that, he thinks – Clarke would probably be much better at completing this task with her hands tied than he is managing while carrying her.

Eventually he does it. He ducks inside, sets her down on the makeshift mattress with infinite care. He turns aside to close the door, and loosely notices that a bunch of drunk teenagers are standing some yards away and staring.

Let them stare. That's what he decides. This is happening, and he's _thrilled_ about it, and he refuses to be embarrassed.

He turns back to look at Clarke, who is not lying still and placid on his bed. Rather, she is looking provocatively up at him, wriggling in place just as he knew she would. It's fascinating, he thinks – that she wants to be tied up and carried around and all-round _dominated_ , yet she cannot lie there passively and take it. Even when she has chosen to hand over control, she still has to be her active, decisive self.

He wouldn't have her any other way.

"You want to untie me and get me undressed before you tie me up again?" She asks, so sweetly he could swear he almost _weeps_.

He really needs to get it together.

"No, Princess. I want you just like that. Gonna rip your clothes out of the way and take you like that – just the way you've looked while you've been teasing me all evening."

"Teasing you all _month_ , more like." She grouses affectionately.

That surprises a laugh out of him. He hadn't noticed that – hadn't allowed himself to notice it. Now she's said it, he can definitely see that some of their good-natured arguments and her raised brows and flushed cheeks were supposed to be flirtatious. But in all honesty, he wasn't ready to believe it until he watched her make a show of eating that apple tonight. He was too determined to fear the worst.

"Now now, Princess." He chides her, mock-irritated. "Are you going to cause trouble or are you going to be good for me?"

She flushes, chews on her bottom lip for a second while she composes herself to answer. "I'll be good for you, Bellamy."

"That's right."

He's not sure how to proceed, here. He knows foreplay is important to get all parties relaxed and ready. But honestly, that moment out there with the apple was more than enough warm-up for him. Is Clarke feeling the same? Does she want to get fucked as badly as he wants to hold her tied wrists and fuck her?

He can find out, he decides. He can relax, and do some research, and they can figure it out as they go along. This is Clarke – his good friend and colleague, by day. They make a damn good team beyond that door, and there is no reason to suspect things will be any different this side of the canvas. He can trust her to communicate with him, if he does his best to meet her half way.

"I want you on your front. That OK?" He asks, a firm demand paired with a tender question. That's how he wants it to be between them – tightly tied wrists and soft, caring cuddles, all bundled together.

She nods, makes a little whining noise. She starts trying to wriggle herself onto her front.

Frankly, he thinks she's making it look difficult for show. He knows after watching her tie that bootlace that she is very competent and nimble even when tied up. So he supposes he had better give her what he wants, make a point of helping her to maintain the mood. He kneels on the bed, lifts her into the position he wants – hips up, shoulders down, face pressed into the soft furs of his bed. And her hands, of course, still tied and nestled in the small of her back.

She makes quite the pretty picture.

He kneels behind her, reaches around her front to unbuckle her belt and pull her trousers aside. He presses a kiss to her hands while he's at it, just because that feels like a good thing to do.

She moans loudly, so he figures that means she agrees with him on that one.

He checks how she's doing with a finger – or in fact, with a couple of fingers. He finds her so wet and ready that one seems inadequate.

"So the apple thing was a turn-on for you too, huh?" He asks her, teasing.

She moans again. He loves listening to Clarke talk or argue, but he thinks he might enjoy listening to her wordlessly lose her mind over him even more. That's fair enough, right?

"I want to get my cock inside you now, Princess." He tells her, and again, it's half a demand, half him checking in with her. "I'll take care of you, OK? I've got you."

She makes a little humming noise of agreement, snuggles her face deeper into his furs. Good. He hopes they end up smelling like her.

He eases inside of her, takes a couple of slow strokes. It's good – she's ready for him, rolling her hips back to meet his with every thrust, making the most obscene groaning noises.

But it's not quite everything he wants. That's why he reaches for her bound hands, loops his fingers around her wrists. He doesn't just want to tie her down – he wants to hold her tight, too, and show her she's safe with him.

The next time she groans, it's definitely a muffled attempt at his name. The moan after that, she sinks her hips right back into his along with it. And she's fidgeting more than ever, seeking pressure in exactly the right spot.

He wants to give her what she needs – _everything_ she needs. He takes one of his hands from her wrists, stretches the other around both instead. She has such beautiful hands, and a lot smaller than his, and he can just about cover them with one of his. And then he takes his free hand, slips down to her clit and coaxes her gently to the edge.

She comes loudly, throwing her hips back into him, smudging her face right into the furs.

He should have known she wasn't a quiet one, he thinks affectionately. But he's in no state to think much more than that as he feels himself teetering closer to orgasm, pleasure blooming low in his core. All he can feel is Clarke beneath his hands and around his cock, all he can see is her tied up and wanting him.

He falls apart, then, sagging forward right onto her back. He lies there for a long couple of seconds, breathing heavily, feeling her rough jacket and soft skin underneath him.

But he doesn't stay there forever. He tears himself away, gets on with untying her wrists. This part is important to him as well – he wants to show her he can take care of her and make her comfortable.

It occurs to him that, somewhere along the line, he seems to have stopped thinking of this as a hot hookup with a hot friend. He cannot remember when _getting her_ into his bed became _keeping her_ in his bed.

Ah well. Nothing to be done about it now – except to hope desperately that she feels the same way.

He unties her hands, presses kisses to her wrists and fingers. He tosses the rope aside – Jasper can have that back in a few days' time, when it's served its purpose.

Or perhaps Bellamy could just keep hold of it forever.

"You OK, Princess?" He whispers, turning Clarke over onto her side so he can look down at her. She has a few stray hairs from the furs sticking to her rosy cheeks, but she's grinning up at him like she's anticipating one of their little bickering matches, he thinks.

"Perfect." She says simply. "That was great. Just as I imagined."

"Happy to hear I didn't disappoint." He jokes.

There's a moment's silence. He knows what he wants to do now. He wants to undress her, slowly and carefully, then tuck her up in his bed. Then he wants to fall asleep at her side, and wake up with her in the morning – and preferably every morning for the foreseeable future.

But he doesn't know whether _she_ wants that. Apart from anything else, he supposes that undressing someone _after_ sex is probably at least a little weird. It's certainly something he's never done before.

He summons his courage, takes a deep breath. He is confident and competent in bed, and Clarke enjoyed that, and they're good friends. This shouldn't be awkward, no matter what happens next.

"You want to try this again some time?" He asks lightly.

"You want to make this a regular thing?" She bounces back at him. Typical – she always has to go one better.

He can feel his grin splitting his face. "I want to make this a regular thing. But one condition – you stay the night afterwards."

"Done." She says easily. "I would have asked for that anyway."

He grins even wider. "Great. Good to know we're on the same page."

She smiles. He leans forward to kiss her – a soft and gentle kiss for the warm afterglow of sex. It's funny, he thinks, that he hasn't kissed her lips yet. She's had her mouth all over his hands, and he's kissed her hands, too. But this is the first time their mouths are meeting, and it feels good. Warm but somehow insistent, much like Clarke herself.

He pulls away after a few seconds. There's something he really, desperately wants to do.

"Can I undress you?" He asks softly. "And put you to bed?"

By way of answer, she simply gives a small nod and stretches her arms out for him to remove her jacket. He leans in, eases the sleeves down her arms and over her hands. And when he's done, of course, he presses a gentle kiss to each wrist.

He's going to have to show her wrists plenty of love, he thinks. He wouldn't want them to feel neglected, but they're destined to spend a lot of time tied.

He undresses Clarke, slowly and with lots of kisses. He tries to tuck her into the bed, too, but she objects and insists on helping him take his clothes off in turn. Of course she does – that's his Clarke. And at last they are both lying there together, warm and soft and comfortable.

That's when Bellamy gathers his courage and asks the question.

"So – you were trying to give me a hint before?" He asks. He seems to remember she implied that earlier.

"Yeah."

"And what was the plan if tying your wrists together and throwing yourself at me didn't work?"

She laughs, but he thinks it sounds a little stiff. "Honestly? No idea. I was losing hope. I didn't even plan this one – Jasper suggested it and I improvised." He hugs her tighter. He doesn't like the hint of insecurity that crept in, there. He can't believe she didn't realise he was so desperately interested.

"Well I'm so happy he did – this means a lot to me." He admits, throat thick. "But I guess we owe him a good thank you gift."

Clarke's laugh is more relaxed, this time round. "Don't tell him that. He'll be tying Monty up for Harper next if we encourage him."

"All the more reason to encourage him." Bellamy says, only half joking.

So it is that he falls asleep with Clarke giggling softly in his arms. It all started out innocently enough, he seems to remember. And yet, tied hands and fierce fucking be damned – he has never felt more guiltless than he feels in this moment.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading!


End file.
